First Class Sonnet

Oh British Rail First Class, Oh first Class Britain

A leather bound land of the wide and thrilling

I have joined your ranks; sat where you’re sitting

Embraced lavishly like some wealthy bond villain

Who takes what he wants, whose demands are demanding

His character outclassed by the depth of his pocket

Oh come, throne him up, you can’t leave him standing

He needs wifi, red wine and his own power socket

And while he laughs, he slips and slides on your chairs

The poor, in piss filled halls can hide

With cramped aching feet, and a steel cold glare

For the guards with clip on ties that keep them outside.

Yes, the final destination is the same, but the journey much more sweet

For the wealthy ass traversing life on the comfortable seat.